


surely to the sea

by stupidsexyseguin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cancer, Canon Illness, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:05:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidsexyseguin/pseuds/stupidsexyseguin
Summary: Justin is fifteen the first time writing appears on his skin.





	surely to the sea

**Author's Note:**

> archived from tumblr

Justin is fifteen the first time writing appears on his skin. It’s not even writing, it’s a massive, jagged streak of blue texta that draws itself into being when he’s sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal. His mom drops her mug in surprise at the sight of it, before she’s smiling at Justin so wide, taking his face between warm palm and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

She’s so happy for him.

The Schultz’ haven’t had a child born with a soulmate in four generations. Soulmates are not so rare that they’re scarce, but not everyone is born with one. Scientist have been studying correlation and cause and effect and genetic predisposition for years and still don’t know how it’s determined.

So when Justin’s soulmate manages to transfer their half assed body art attempt across to his skin, it’s the universe sending him a sign that his perfect other half is out there- and is apparently an aspiring artist. He heads into school with an indelible blue mark on his skin and he’s never felt so happy in his life.

Until it all comes crashing down at hockey practice.

They’re in the locker room, changing into gear and shooting the shit- most of the guys saw his marks at school (the blue line blurring away around lunch, being quickly replaced with messily drawn red stars up and down his wrist. Justin had spent most of history carefully colouring in the stars with black biro, smiling to himself as new ones had started piecing themselves slowly together after every one he filled in.

“So you have a girl now Schultzy?” One of the wingers is smirking at him from across the room, the rest of the guys glance at him in interest- none of them have soulmates, so Justin is for once the centre of attention.

“I guess.” He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes and keeps pulling on his gear.

“What’s her name then? D’ya think she’s hot?” he feels like hot lead is sinking in his stomach. Because he knows. He knows there is no way his soulmate is a girl. Because Justin- Justin doesn’t like girls. Has never liked girls.

When the guys in the locker room talk about their girlfriends and hot chicks they’ve seen and sex they’ve had, Justin’s kept quiet. Because when he lay in bed at night, he didn’t think about soft breasts and curves and thighs- he thought about strong shoulders and hard bodies. He thought about boys at school he’d seen and how it might feel to kiss them, to grind into them, to know what it felt like to get on his knees for them.

“I dunno, she’s just been drawing on me.” He trains his eyes on his stall, pulling on his jersey. It feels like deceit. It feels like he’s somehow _ betraying _ his soulmate.

“Ooooh, an artist. Fucking fancy.” his D partner teases, and Justin forces himself to smile and check him in the shoulder.

All the excitement from the morning about his soulmate is gone by the time he gets home. He manages to make his way through dinner- his mom’s made his favourites, and tells him about how happy all the family is for him, his dad pats him on the back and asks if he’s learned anything about his soulmate and his brother just ignores him in favour of texting his friends.

In his room though, he lies in the dark and stares at the ceiling. Because he can’t be gay and play in the NHL. And he wants to play in the NHL. It’s his dream to play in the NHL.

But there are no out, gay, NHL players. Hockey is inherently homophobic and he’s known that enough to keep his sexuality quiet- but how does he do that when he comes with an obviously male soulmate?

So he makes the decision.

Hockey players don’t tend to last past 35.  

And then he has the rest of his life to have his soul mate.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a really fucking long day.

Practice had been hard, everyone pushing themselves to do better. Always do better.

last year had been a fucking shitshow, and it obviously weighed on everyone. The oilers had had some great wins, but they’d been scattered between even worse losses. Justin himself hadn’t had that bad a season, comparatively, but it still felt like the entire fucking franchise was resting on every player’s shoulders.

And now they’re four games into the season and yet to register a fucking win.

He’d been planning on throwing himself on the couch, napping, and maybe seeing if Ebs wanted to hang out and play some NHL15.

Until he’d dragged off his shirt and seen the writing his soulmate had left in unusually shaky red pen.

_ Please call. _

_ 1 412 555 0188 _

It’s American- he knows that much from the calling code. Which- his soulmate is in America? But Justin knew that he was Finnish- had spent years reading shopping lists and homework reminders on his wrists in messy foreign script. He’d even taught himself enough to say hello and goodbye to his soulmate, because he’d felt so slack when his soulmate had been able to talk to him in pretty decent english and Justin couldn’t do the same in return.

It takes him an hour to decide if he’ll call or not- they hadn’t ever discussed meeting, or even talking in person. Justin had made his choice ten years ago. And his soulmate had never even suggested it- Justin had assumed he was in a similar position, needing to stay closeted in order to stay safe. Even with the knowledge of soulmates, hockey is still as homophobic and hyper masculine as it had been ten years ago. He knows most of his friends wouldn’t care, but he hears half the shit guys on the team- and the teams they play- say and he doesn’t want to expose himself to that, let alone a soulmate who didn’t deserve that shit on his behalf.

But he’s asking Justin to call.

After ten years of being happy to just have notes and stupid pictures between them, drawing and colouring stupid pictures of dragons and knights and, more recently, penguins, he’s asking Justin to call.

It must be important.

The phone rings six times. Justin counts. He’s holding his breath. He’s going to talk to the person the universe thinks is his perfect other half. After ten years of knowing that he’s out there.

“…Hello?” The guy that answers is hesitant, voice small and strained.

“Hi. It’s- I’m Justin. You, you asked me to call?” There’s a hitch of breathing on the other end of the phone, and Justin can’t tell if the guy’s happy that he’s actually called or not.

“Hi.” The guy breaths across the line.

“Hi.” Well. Now he sounds like a fucking idiot.

“Oh, fuck, shit.”  The guy swears and Justin hears what sounds like a body part thunking on wood down the line. “I- _ Olli _ , I’m Olli. fuck. I, I wasn’t expecting you to actually call.” His voice is deep and his vowels are rounded with the faintest hint of a european accent. But he also sounds really fucking upset. Justin’s so glad he called, if it means he can help his soulmate-  _ his Olli _ \- feel better.

“Hey, are you okay?” there’s another hitch of breath, followed by a muffled sob

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I just really wanted to hear your voice.”

“What- I’m not mad or anything. I’m just worried about you- _ are you okay _ ?”

“Not- not really.” Olli lets out an almost hysterical laugh.

“Do you want to tell me? I’m happy to listen?” And it’s the honest truth. This is his  _ soulmate _ . He could listen to Olli happily all day.

“I have cancer.”

His chest feels like it’s caving in- as if something punched him hard and left him breathless and desperate for air.

“Fuck. what-?”

“It- they’re saying it isn’t that bad. Could be worse. Found it in a physical and did some tests.”

“So, you’re- you’re going to be _ okay _ ? Right?”

“The doctors said I’ll be fine. They want to remove the tumor, but it hasn’t spread anywhere else. I just,” he takes a deep, wet sounding breath “I realised that it could have been so much fucking  _ worse _ . And I had never even heard your fucking voice. Didn’t even know your name.  _ Justin _ .” and- fuck, the way he says Justin’s name is just. Everything. Everything he didn’t know he needed.

“Yeah, I get that. Olli. I’m- so glad you’ll be okay.” Olli laughs through the line, the sound still clouded with what Justin knows now have to be tears.

“Me too. Thank you. For calling.”

“Of course. Anything for you. You’re- you’re important Olli. Any time you want to talk, if I can, I’ll listen.”

“You don’t even know me.” but he does. He knows that Olli loves to draw, but is a kind of terrible artist. That Olli is Finnish. That he seems to love hockey as much as Justin does. That he’s terrible at history but has a weird love for math. That he enjoys terrible knock knock jokes. That he wants to get them a tattoo, but changes his mind about it every other week, drawing new lines and words across justin’s skin to get his opinion.

Justin’s had ten years to learn Olli through his body- even if today was the first time he learned his name.

“I know the universe thinks you should be important to me. That’s enough.”

“You sound like a fucking romantic, man.” Olli laughs at him again, and Justin smiles fondly at it. He sounds so much better than he had when he’d answered the phone. And if he sounds like a fucking romantic, well who fucking cares; he kinda is.

“Ha, you wish.”

They spend the next hour on the phone, talking shit, mostly about video games- Olli’s been playing Call of Duty, and thinks Justin needs to actually play it instead of just giving it shit while Justin’s hanging out for the next Halo game. They’ve been playing NHL15, which leads to talking about the actual season, and Justin is careful not to say anything too revealing about his place on the Oilers.

And it’s the happiest Justin’s felt in years. He and Olli just click. And he knows Olli must feel fucking terrible- _ the guy has fucking cancer _ \- so Justin is just glad he can help, can be there for him, help him laugh when it must feel like the end of the world.

“I- I need to go.” Olli tells him

“Oh.” Justin looks at the clock and realises how long he’s just been sitting there talking. But he doesn’t think it’s enough. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Olli.

“No! I just- I have to get to the- to work.” Olli sounds hesitant now, like he has something else he wants to say, but doesn’t know how Justin will take it.

“Oh, right.” Justin licks his lips and rubs at his scruff “You can- you can call me whenever you want. I may not always be able to answer, but I promise I’ll call back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That-. Thanks. You too. You should call me.”

“I will.”

When Justin hangs up, he wonders if this will work. If he can actually have this. Let himself have this. Olli- he’s just fucking great. And he deserves someone to support him through all the shit he’s going through.

 

* * *

 

 

It feels like defeat.

Moving to Pittsburgh feels- hollow.

He’d been expecting the trade. He knows he’d been fucking up, been letting down everyone in Edmonton. He’d heard it from the coaching staff, in the way they talked to him at training sessions and practices. He’d seen it in the way his teammates had started pulling away, until the only one really speaking with him like everything was fine was Ebs. He’d heard it from the fucking fans how badly he was fucking everything up for them. Sending their hopes and dreams down the fucking drain.

But it didn’t actually get real until the rumours had started flying around near the end of the trade deadline. He’d sat around on his couch that last day, waiting for the call he knew would be coming.

So when he gets to Pittsburgh he isn’t expecting the welcome that he receives.

They all just seem so pleased to see him.

Crosby had called him after the trade, telling him that they were looking forward to having him, but he hadn’t realised that it was actually the truth. Because then Cole had been really fucking nice since he’d picked him up from the airport- had taken him out to dinner with his wife, picked him up from the hotel he’d been staying in the next morning to drive him to practice, spent the entire time talking about how the coaches thought they’d work well together, how great the team was, how Justin would be a great addition to the team.

When Cole had led him into the locker room, he’d been greeted by smiles and friendly nods, and Patric Hornqvist had actually given him a fucking bear hug before inviting him out for drinks.

Horny takes him under his arm, with a snort from Cole who just heads to his own stall to get changed, and starts loudly introducing all the guys. He’s giving Hagelin a ribbing, Fleury and Letang chiming in like good natured assholes, while Justin looks on when a blonde, built guy saunters in. His hair is a mess and there are dark bruises under his eyes, and Justin recognises him as one of the other D-men, Maatta.

A cheer sounds from some of the younger guys as he sets his things down and starts stripping. Justin has to force himself to look away when he realises he’s staring at the line of the guy’s muscled back. Lockerroom rules.

“Olli! We were worried you died, after last night’s tournament.” Rust crows at the Maatta, and Justin jumps at the unexpected name.

“Fuck off.” comes the grumpy response, muffled by pads. Justin’s sure he’s staring now. He feels like all his blood is both rushing to his head and leaving his body at the same time. He knows that voice.

He knows that voice.

He’s heard that voice at least once a week, every week, for the past year and a half.

“Ha ha, don’t be scared of Olli! He just drinks more than he can handle.” Horny claps Justin on the shoulder, startling him out of his shock. Justin gives the guy a weak smile, but he feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him. It’s his first fucking practice and everything had been going so well and now Olli is here and Justin has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

It’s his soulmate.

_ Olli. _

Olli is standing right there, right in front of him, and Justin can’t do anything about it.

Because he’s a hockey player. They’re both hockey players. Teammates.

“Olli, be nice to Justin- Schultzy’s joining us D-men to hold up this fucking team.” Tanger chimes in.

Olli turns and meets his eyes, and Justin feels his heart kickstart in his chest. 

“Hey, man.” he smiles and all Justin can do is nod and smile back.

 

* * *

 

 

Practice is- it’s practice.

It’s weird to be playing with a new group of guys- they don’t click right away- but he can feel something there that he’d been missing back in Edmonton. Something that could be  _ really _ fucking good.

He tries so hard to block out the thought of Olli being his soulmate, not let it screw with his skating. He has no idea if he was successful or not. He hopes it’s written off as post-trade jitters.

The rest of the guys have a game that night, but Justin’s still a healthy scratch until the coaches are sure how he works with the guys. They hope he’ll be out there in the next few games. Everyone seems so positive. It’s like a weight is slowly lifting from his shoulders.

He expects Colesy to be giving him a ride back to the hotel, so he’s surprised when Olli’s the one who approaches him with his bag and gear slung over his shoulder.

“I told Colesy I’d take you. The guys from Wilkes-Barre are staying at your hotel, but I thought you might want a bit of quiet.” He smiles at Justin, and Justin just nods helplessly, gathering up his own stuff.

The drive is quiet, there’s local radio playing in the car, but if you asked, he couldn’t tell you what was playing- he spends the whole time watching Olli; the strong lines of his body, the softness of his face, the way the bones and muscles in his hands shift under skin as he changes gears. If Olli notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Eventually they’re at the hotel, at the door to his room, and neither of them has said anything since leaving the practice centre. He can feel the weight of Olli’s gaze on the back of his neck and it feels like he’s on fire. He fumbles the key card and it takes him three attempts to open door and get inside.

Justin turns, mouth opening to say-  _ something, anything _ \- and instead finds himself being kissed quiet by ice-chapped lips. He loses himself to the kiss. It’s nothing passionate or heated or in anyway sexy. It’s just warm lips against his own; a gentle pressure, a sweet warmth, curling up inside him and wrapping around his heart.

Oli pulls away and Justin follows, not wanting it to end so soon, he’s being laughed at, which is when he realises that his eyes are still closed. Olli- Olli is everything he wanted and never knew. He’s so soft and warm and lovely and funny. He’s pretty and strong and loves hockey as much as Justin loves hockey. He’s standing right in front of Justin, in his hotel room, in Pittsburgh. Running his fingers through Justin’s hair, sliding hands down his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

He opens his eyes and Olli’s still there. Right in front of him. Smiling at him fondly.

“Hi.” he presses his forehead to Olli’s.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Olli’s laughing at him again, and it feels like sunshine in his bones. He can’t help but kiss him again.

Things are looking up.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus:
> 
> Dumo’s lining up his shot, sipping from his can of Natty Light, when it happens. He takes one look at Justin’s face and snorts beer out of his nose, shot going wide and hitting an unsuspecting Shearsy in the face.
> 
> “The fuck dude?” Conor pelts the pong ball back at Dumo, who’s still spluttering beer out of his nose.
> 
> “Schultzy- his. fuck” he dissolves into a garbled mass of coughing giggles
> 
> “My what?” Justin raises a thick eyebrow at Dumo, but that just makes him laugh harder.
> 
> Murrs slips out onto the deck from the living room, giggling, not noticing the mess that is Dumo.
> 
> “Olli’s passed out on the couch.” He snickers, and they all turn to face him.
> 
> “I drew a-” His eyes seem caught on Justin’s forehead “dick on his face….”
> 
> Dumo’s laughter grows hysterical.


End file.
